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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24579157">Everything</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll'>IneffableDoll</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Confessions of Love [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexuality, Banter, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Falling In Love, Fluff, Holding Hands, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Repression, at EVERY opportunity, author likes much ado and must project it on Crowley, love realizations, marked m/m but they're obviously nb, these idiots i swear, they can’t even take a freaking love confession seriously, why isn't that a tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:02:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24579157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh angel, I’d wait to the end of the world.”<br/>Two love confessions, two thousand years apart. Denial is a heck of a thing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Confessions of Love [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714558</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Aspec-friendly Good Omens</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Everything</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This has been finished for over a week but I forgot to post it whoops.<br/>This fic was spawned because my brain randomly was like “hhrrnngggg unrequited love confession make it angsty” and then I didn’t make it angsty at all, lol.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bus wasn’t going to Oxford.</p><p>A demon and an angel sat side by side on hard plastic seats in dingy public transport, like equals, as exhausted as if they’d saved the world.</p><p>Aziraphale would later chalk it up to a team effort.</p><p>The angel studied the demon to his left, always to his left, that steady, comforting presence like a balm to the soul, if ethereal beings had souls. Against the shock of red hair, his pale face was grimy with what he assumed were the grungy remnants of the Bentley. His body was flung over the seat without a hint of that structured nonchalance that was the defining trait of his posture.</p><p>The demon looked dead on his feet, but he was alive. They were alive, and they were on their <em>own</em> side. He tried to remind himself of that.</p><p>“Crowley?” Aziraphale murmured.</p><p>The demon seemed to take a moment to pull his consciousness forward, lifting his chin just a bit. “Mmm, yeah?” he muttered, weariness weighing down every trace of his form.</p><p>“Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”</p><p>Crowley let out a weak hiss. “Nah. ‘M good.”</p><p>Aziraphale almost laughed at the word choice but recognized this wasn’t the time. He reached over in a fit of bravery – or perhaps just this new lack of fear – and took Crowley’s hand. “Sleep, dear. We’ll talk later.”</p><p>The demon seemed unable to argue, brushing a thumb lightly over the angel’s hand before sinking his head into Aziraphale’s shoulder and falling asleep on contact.</p><p>As the demon slept, soft snores that sounded like hisses leaving gentle puffs of breath against the angel’s collar, Aziraphale let himself think about a conversation he had been pretending had never happened for nearly two thousand years.</p><p>Two thousand years is such a long time, he mused.</p><p>He glanced down to his demon and he knew he would say it.</p><p>~</p><p>“I need to talk to you,” Crowley said suddenly.</p><p>It was sometime in the second or third century. A.D., that is, or C.E. if you prefer. They’d found each other quite by accident in a small village to the East and ended up getting drinks in some local tavern. Now, with the slight buzz of alcohol dimming the edges of his vision, standing on a hill just outside the town as the stars blinked awake and the humans fell asleep, an angel and a demon stood side by side.</p><p>Not quite allies, not quite friends.</p><p>Not quite adversaries.</p><p>Aziraphale looked away from the Heavens to Crowley, who hovered to his left. Why the left? Hadn’t he even stood to his left on the wall, so long ago? He set that aside for later. “What was that?”</p><p>“I need to tell you something,” Crowley repeated firmly, not looking at him, hands balled up in his robe as a clear betrayal of his nerves. Why, Aziraphale could hardly hazard. “And to ask you something, after.”</p><p>Aziraphale, sensing the mood shift though not understanding it, gave his undivided attention to his demonic counterpart. “Go ahead, then,” he prompted lightly, trying to sound encouraging. Perhaps the demon had a question about Heaven and didn’t know how to ask it.</p><p>“Right.” Crowley swallowed. He glanced aside, shifting from one scaly foot to the other, pressing his lips together as he fought for whatever scrap of courage he was seeking. Aziraphale watched on in confusion and perhaps a touch of amusement. “The – the thing is.” He paused again, reaching up to tear away the absurd little sunglasses and shove them jerkily into a fold in his clothing. “The thing is,” he repeated.</p><p>“Yes?” Aziraphale said calmly, softly, trying to exude a soothing aura. He’d never seen the demon so jittery and it was making him nervous, too.</p><p>Crowley, in one movement, swerved his head to make eye contact, his glinting yellow against a pink sunset. “I love you,” he said simply, before taking a deep, shuddering breath and releasing it, eyes closed.</p><p>Aziraphale felt his world go white and gray, shifting colors and tunes. Crowley – he what now? “You what, now?” he asked disbelievingly, voice high pitched and eyes blown round. There’s no way he heard that correctly.</p><p>Crowley fidgeted. “Erm. Yeah. I think I have been for a while. At least a few centuries. Didn’t realize until Rome.” He blinked and took another breath. “Demons aren’t supposed to love, but it doesn’t mean we can’t, ya know?” He flashed Aziraphale a smirk as if he hadn’t just said something unbelievably Earth shattering, Heaven shattering, Hell shattering.</p><p>“L – love is an…an angelic thing,” Aziraphale protested weakly. This didn’t make any sense. It couldn’t be possible. “I’m sure you can’t – you just misunderstood…”</p><p>Crowley shook his head slightly, but he didn’t protest in anger as Aziraphale might’ve expected. “It started that way, sure,” he admitted, voice low and soft like it <em>never</em> was – except perhaps when talking to children and he thought Aziraphale wasn’t around – “but now? This kind of love? It’s a human thing, angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale heart leapt at the term he now recognized as an <em>endearment</em>. Crowley was making an expression he’d not seen on the demon before, and he couldn’t understand it. Demons didn’t love. Demons didn’t love angels. <em>Crowley</em> didn’t love <em>him</em>. This wasn’t allowed, it wasn’t okay, and it was dangerous, Crowley could get himself killed if anyone found out-</p><p>“Angel, calm down,” Crowley broke in amongst his thoughts and the angel looked up to see him regarding him, expression nigh unreadable. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“What’s – what’s wrong?” Aziraphale repeated back indignantly. “You just told me you love me!”</p><p>“So I did.” Crowley studied him curiously. “And you don’t love me back.”</p><p>“Wha-“ Aziraphale ran a hand over his face, a mix of confused and agitated. “I love <em>all</em> of God’s creations. I am an angel, Crowley.”</p><p>“Yes, but it’s different,” Crowley said almost methodically, as though he was repeating rehearsed lines. He folded his arms and looked out over the valley, dotted with small houses and fields, mere shapes in shadow cast in a slight silvery haze. Aziraphale stared at the demon, outlined in moonlight, feeling every emotion. “You are required to love even dirty little demons in that all-encompassing way of yours. But this is different. This is the way humans love each other. The kind of love that makes people do stupid things, like confess to angels of the Lord.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile, mirthless. “You don’t love me that way. I know that.”</p><p>“Well…well I…” Aziraphale couldn’t deny it, obviously, and he didn’t want to. Loving a demon would be wrong, obviously. He liked Crowley well enough, and he enjoyed his companionship. If asked, he would never admit to it, but he’d begun to look forward to the familiar face. Perhaps even considered him something like a friend, <em>maybe.</em></p><p>But love? Romantic love, as in the poems and epics and myths passed through oral tradition? Would he be Orpheus and dive into the depths of Hell for his Euridice? As Odysseus, endure the harshest oceans for his Penelope? No, he would not. Aziraphale couldn’t feel that way if he wanted to, and he could not imagine wanting to for a <em>demon</em>, however admittedly undemonic they may be.</p><p>It was wrong.</p><p>It would be a sin, for an angel to love a demon like that.</p><p>Though what to make of a demon loving an angel was another question entirely.</p><p>“I’m…sorry,” he found himself saying, his gaze sharply turning away from Crowley when the demon faced him, essentially reversing their stances. “I don’t. Of course not. You’re a demon.” As though he needed reminding.</p><p>Crowley nodded like he had expected that reply. A flash of a grimace crossed his expression, nonetheless. “Right. So, that brings me to the other thing.”</p><p>“What other thing?”</p><p>“I said I wanted to ask you something.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed. “Right. Er. Ask away, my fr – Crowley.”</p><p>If the demon noticed the aborted endearment, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Do you think you <em>could</em> love me?”</p><p>Aziraphale simply stared at him unmoving, unblinking, lungs in shutdown.</p><p>“I just want to know, plain and simple,” Crowley continued in a business-like manner, “if I have reason to hope.” Aziraphale must’ve made an expression because Crowley quickly added, “I’m not pressuring you, okay? I’m not going to force – I mean, you know I couldn’t, anyway. Not tempting you. Just…asking. If I should wait.”</p><p>Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond but found he had no words. After a moment of floundering, Crowley spoke again.</p><p>“I would wait, you know,” he said, even quieter, looking down at his hands. “If it took you thousands of years, I’d wait. But…if you think it’s impossible, I don’t want to spend it anticipating something that will never come. I know it’s not fair to ask you, but…” He trailed off, apparently out of words, and watched Aziraphale expectantly.</p><p>His mind sprinted. It made a morbid bit of sense, really, what he was asking for. A painful distance made easier by removing the hope. By destroying that one thing that kept humanity afloat and families tied and relationships bonded. That kept wars fought, and children saved and doctors pleading. That kept mothers praying and spring reviving.</p><p>He could save Crowley so much pain by smothering his light, right now, with the truth. The truth that he did not love Crowley. He had never loved like that before. And he – he couldn’t imagine that he ever would.</p><p>Loathe as he was to admit it, Crowley was a good person. For a demon, anyway. He didn’t want to hurt people, and Aziraphale – well, he didn’t like to hurt people either. Not even a demon, and especially not Crowley. Crowley…didn’t deserve that.</p><p>It ached in Aziraphale's chest to smother that light, but it was the right thing to do. The honest thing. And he was an angel, and angels always did the right and honest thing. He hoped it was also the merciful one.</p><p>“Crowley,” he began, “I don’t know.”</p><p>The demon’s eyes widened just as Aziraphale’s did in shock, and Aziraphale could feel the flames of Crowley’s hope explode ten-fold.</p><p>That – that was not what he meant to say. Not in his head. <em>Oh, oh dear</em>. It wasn’t what was supposed to leap out his lips, and yet it had, like his body had a mind of its own out of sync with the one residing within. And now, oh Lord – he’d given the demon a false hope. He’d <em>lied.</em> Oh, this was so wrong and mortifying!</p><p>“That’s…not a no, then?” Crowley asked, almost too low to be heard, eyes shining molten and amber. The sun had set, leaving them in an ephemeral night, yet still, they blazed with fire.</p><p>Aziraphale shuddered slightly, his eyebrows low and lips pressed. He couldn’t understand what to do. What to say. Would it really be merciful to deny Crowley now? He couldn’t be sure. But it would be the honest thing. This was absurd, of course, he couldn’t love Crowley, right? Obviously not.</p><p>He sent a silent prayer Above, asking for guidance, despite knowing that She didn’t hear it in the human way from angels. Needed to use the proper channels.</p><p>“It’s – it’s a…it’s not…I don’t know,” he found himself repeating, defeated, feeling lost and more than a little annoyed at himself for his inability to articulate what he meant.</p><p>Crowley’s lips quirked into a smile that he seemed to be fighting down and failing. “Right. Right then. Okay.” He blinked and looked around, some tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Good…good talk, then.” He turned around and took a step down the hill.</p><p>“You’re – you’re going?” Aziraphale asked, small, fragile, a helpless and silent plea. For what, he couldn’t be sure.</p><p>Crowley paused to look back at him as he replaced his sunglasses. His expression was one Aziraphale had, again, never seen before and thus, had no idea what it meant. “I won’t bring this up again,” Crowley replied simply. “If ever you want to talk about it, that’s on you. And if that really never happens, then so be it. But I meant what I said.”</p><p>Aziraphale made an inquisitive sound, feeling wrong-footed.</p><p>“I’ll wait.” He turned to go again. Aziraphale watched him, jaw slack and mind buzzing with questions and no answers.</p><p>“How…how long?” Aziraphale whispered, against his own will.</p><p>“Oh angel,” Crowley replied, his back to him, red hair alight with his own stars. “I’d wait to the end of the world.”</p><p>~</p><p>Just as Crowley promised, he didn’t bring it up the next time they saw each other, and neither acted differently than they had before. Bantering, teasing, accusing, the façade of antagonism growing thinner with each encounter.</p><p>And yet, Aziraphale caught himself staring sometimes, when Crowley looked the other way. Wondering, marveling.</p><p>A <em>demon</em> was in love with him. Not in the way angels loved each other, or the ways humans worshiped him, or even the way animals all seemed to like him. No, this was something different and very strong, and now that he knew, he couldn’t unsee it. It was like learning there was a color you’d never noticed existed until it had a name, and suddenly it was everywhere. It was in Crowley’s smirk when he teased the angel, in his posture when he slunk over to talk to him in whatever corner of the Earth they found themselves in. It was in his crooked eyebrow when Aziraphale said something he found absurd. It was in the small gestures over the years, the dashing rescues and simple gifts too thoughtful for anyone to know Aziraphale would want without knowing him as well as he knew himself – and perhaps better.</p><p>Even in the platonic touches that were the norm of the age, he could see wisps of Crowley’s love. There, in the gentle grasp he would take of Aziraphale’s arm, without pressure, undemanding. Respectful of his feelings and his boundaries, and endlessly patient.</p><p>And it wasn’t demonic. He wondered, at first, if this love was something twisted, something one might expect of a servant of Hell. Perhaps it was lust, but no, Crowley was as disinterested in that as he was. Maybe it was love for a friend, not for a lover, but not even friends among humans were like this in the best of cases. Perhaps it was obsession, but it didn’t feel that way when Crowley clearly had plenty of other things he liked and focused on, and besides, they barely saw each other. It was hardly enough time to even get attached, let alone fall in love.</p><p>At the end of his musing, all he could conclude was that he did. That Crowley did, in fact, love him, in the same way women love men and men loved men and women loved women and people loved people and so on. It was honest and it was genuine, and it was…good. It felt good to be loved, not by devout and terrified humans, but for him as the, well, but of a mess of an angel that he was.</p><p>Aziraphale was amazed by it, stunned by it. Such devotion, a love he could not understand, he had not earned or asked for. And yet, it was pervasive, undeniable.</p><p>And it was soft, a bit like he was.</p><p>~</p><p>Sometimes he found himself wondering. Wondering why, wondering how.</p><p>Wondering if.</p><p>He didn’t let his mind stray far; he was very good at keeping himself in check, compartmentalizing. But now and again, as the centuries turned, his mind would linger on the demon he knew for a <em>fact</em> he could not love. He could not love a spawn of Hell, a denizen of Satan, a mischievous devil of evil and servant of Sin, in that way.</p><p>It would be wrong.</p><p>He was an angel. It was his duty to love all of Her creatures, but not like that. That was a human thing. And apparently a demon thing, at least, in one case.</p><p>And yet, when it’d been just a bit too long since they last saw each other, or when their meetings didn’t last as long as others, and when they parted ways nearly every time, he found himself nearly wishing he could understand what it felt like to love in return.</p><p>But he shut that down quickly. There was no point in speculating because he couldn’t. Demons may have an exception, but angels could not. Not without consequences.</p><p>~</p><p>“I’m not – I’m not agreeing to this because I approve of your methods,” Aziraphale clarified, chin high and with a slight twinge of nerves in his tone. “I simply think it could be…mutually beneficial, and convenient toward our respective lifestyles.”</p><p>Crowley grinned back at him. The edge of the knight’s camp was just as damp as the foggy forest had been earlier, but at least there was less clunky metal involved now that they were just wearing their regular loose garb. “Of course,” the demon agreed breezily. “Just an agreement. An Arrangement, to make our lives easier.”</p><p>“Yes. Exactly.”</p><p>“Rather like marriage contracts, then.”</p><p>“What?” Aziraphale turned and stared at him, stunned and confused. “How is this anything like marriage in <em>any</em> capacity?”</p><p>Crowley shrugged and smirked at him. “Most people just get married because it’s convenient, angel. Social norms dictate their behavior and marriage is a central aspect of that. So, people get married, claiming it’s for love, but it’s really just convenience, innit?”</p><p>Aziraphale blinked and gave a small cough, looking away. “Marriage before the Lord is a holy union in the human’s view, nowadays,” he replied. “I hardly think they’re all sharing vows and homes and lives just for the sake of…<em>convenience.”</em></p><p>“Well,” Crowley hummed. “Not all of them. Some marry for love, I’m sure, even if it isn’t always mutual, and it doesn’t always turn out well even if love’s involved. Human marriage is such a sham, honestly.”</p><p>Aziraphale was severely uncomfortable with this conversation as his mind harkened to a centuries-old one they’d promised never to discuss – well, unless Aziraphale brought it up, so yes, never. This felt too close to that. Surely it was purposeful, the things Crowley was saying. Was he goading him? Had he run out of that patience he’d mentioned? Was he asking for another confirmation – one Aziraphale couldn’t give?</p><p>“That said,” Crowley added nonchalantly, interjecting into the circus of the angel’s thoughts, “maybe it’s closer to a contract between merchants, business partners. Because it’s really a trade, you see? And a marriage contract is typically all about male ownership and female subservience. ‘Cause <em>humans. </em>Did you know they like to blame <em>me</em> for childbirth? It’s ridiculous. That’s all Them the whole way.”</p><p>Aziraphale breathed a silent sigh of relief, hastily latching on to the turn in conversation to drag it as far from romance as he could. “I’m sure the Almighty has Her reasons.”</p><p>“I doubt They do. Just another way to punish women, really. I should go female for a bit and punch some dudes. Teach ’em a lesson.”</p><p>Aziraphale bit back a startled laugh. “Best of luck with that. Er – no, not best of luck. I hope your wiles go horribly.”</p><p>Crowley offered him a slanted grin and Aziraphale found himself at a loss as to why he was at a loss at the sight.</p><p>Yet, when they parted ways, Aziraphale felt strangely fulfilled. Satisfied, even, like a job well done. He’d made a deal with the devil, he thought, vaguely amused but not willing to admit that to himself.</p><p>~</p><p>He stared across the table at the local creperie they were dining at, a bite halfway to his lips. He’d just teased Crowley for his hair – he knew it was in style at the French court, but still, this was just unacceptable – and Crowley argued back indignantly with poorly concealed amusement.</p><p>“You haven’t changed your hair in millennia!” Crowley protested in mock offense, waving his hand in the general direction of Aziraphale’s curly white locks. “And you’re <em>still</em> the one who waltzed into France for crepes during a Revolution dressed as an English aristocrat!”</p><p>“Hardly relevant,” Aziraphale replied primly.</p><p>“You sodding fool,” Crowley said with a roll of the eyes as he pushed his place across the table, two bites eaten, as an obvious offering. It was so routine he didn’t even verbally acknowledge it anymore, and Aziraphale accepted it with equaled silence. “Why in the world do I put up with you, again, you torment?”</p><p>Aziraphale glanced up to say something that was certainly not snarky because angels don’t do snarky but instead drew in a sharp breath. Crowley, half leaning across the table, bobbing red rolls and stupid little opaque glasses and teeth a bit too sharp to be human – the world titled, his perception of the order of the cosmos reoriented in a second, his orbit obstructed, life rewound and recategorized as something in him shattered.</p><p>What was it in about this moment, so normal and unnoteworthy, that made the constellations of the sky sharply make a new sort of sense?</p><p>His fork clattered to the plate as he gaped, unable to speak.</p><p>Oh…oh…<em>bullocks.</em></p><p>“Aziraphale, you okay?” Crowley leaned forward even further, nearly invading Aziraphale’s personal space, eyebrows drawn in concern and a lilt of amusement.</p><p>“W-What?” Aziraphale forced himself to focus on the moment, though the edges felt hazy and rough. His brain could do little but think back over centuries of interactions, centuries of laughter and gifts and rescues and smiles and <em>oh, oh dear.</em></p><p>This was very not good.</p><p>“You’re blanking on me, angel. Something wrong with the crepes?” Crowley added. His voice sounded distant to the angel’s ears.</p><p>Aziraphale found himself shaking his head, like a puppet he was watching from overhead when he tugged on the relevant string. “No, no, I’m quite alright, my dear – er, Crowley. Yes. Erm. All good. Tickety-boo. Just got…lost in thought there for a second is all. Um. You were, ah, saying?”</p><p>Crowley looked at him strangely, mouthing ‘tickety-boo’ with visible disgust, like he was parsing the term and deciding whether he believed it.  He seemed to decide not to pursue it. “Right, well, we were talking about how much you adore my hairdo.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt himself resettle a bit from his Earth shattering, Heaven shattering, Hell shattering revelation as the familiar banter washed over him, and he rolled his eyes. <em>Fondly, fondly, had it always felt so fond?</em> “That is not what we were discussing, and you know it.”</p><p>“Fine, fine, you were just admitting that Billy Shake’s best work was <em>Much Ado.”</em></p><p>“It’s a lovely play, my dear, but it most certainly is not!”</p><p>“You’re just biased against the comedies, angel. It’s all about thematic irony, conflicting tones to heighten the drama! Hamlet’s a sad bastard the whole time; how’s that interesting?”</p><p>And, so simply, as though nothing had happened, as though this afternoon wasn’t any different than another spent in Crowley’s company, they drifted off into amicable argument that inevitably ended with “agreeing to disagree,” carrying on until long after Aziraphale had eaten both of their crepes before they parted ways.</p><p>All the while, there was a buzzing sense of displacement, or rather, the alarming sense that there ought to be. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. He realized as he watched Crowley walk away from him, head bobbing slightly under the weight of those stupid rolls of auburn hair, that this was nothing new.</p><p>Oh, Lord Above. He’d loved Crowley for millennia, hadn’t he?</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>Holy water.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Holy water.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Holy water.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Flashes of Crowley melting, a puddle of his flesh, black clothes singed, eyes molten, his mind evaporated for – for what?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nothing. No.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He couldn’t.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wouldn’t.</em>
</p><p>~</p><p>Double-crossed while double-crossing. Crowley was never going to let him live it down, but that was fine because at least there was a Crowley to speak of, back in his life as though he’d never left. As though <em>Aziraphale</em> had never left.</p><p>Bombs, books, a demon hopping down the aisle toward him like a blistered bride.</p><p>
  <em>“Rather like a marriage contract.”</em>
</p><p>He didn’t say it.</p><p>~</p><p><em>‘Til death do us part</em>, Aziraphale thought painfully as he handed over a thermos. He could do this. He had to believe it was the right thing to do. Maybe not the right thing for Heaven, which was perhaps all that should have mattered, but it was the right thing for Crowley. For this nebulous “us” that couldn’t exist.</p><p>
  <em>“This is the way humans love each other. The kind of love that makes people do stupid things.”</em>
</p><p>He didn’t say it then, either. Not with words, anyway.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>“Oh angel, I’d wait to the end of the world.”</em>
</p><p>He wondered if Crowley had really meant it so literally as this.</p><p>It was the end of the world, and he still couldn’t say it. To admit it to himself was one thing, but to put it into language was to legitimize it. It would put them both in danger. He already endangered Crowley in so many ways. He would not make this worse. And there were much bigger things to worry about and think about now.</p><p>
  <em>“If ever you want to talk about it, that’s on you.”</em>
</p><p>Then Crowley would simply have to wait for the end of the world and beyond. He couldn’t say it.</p><p>~</p><p>“There is no ‘our side,’ Crowley. It’s over.”</p><p>If he’d been in a more humorous mood, perhaps he might have considered this their divorce. The end of the Arrangement, the end of an era, the end of so much more than even the world. As it was, he returned to his bookshop in tears, and he didn’t care who noticed.</p><p>
  <em>“I’ll wait.”</em>
</p><p>He wished he had said it.</p><p>~</p><p>“Stuff happened. Lost my best friend.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared at the demon from across the table. He couldn’t see, strictly speaking, being an ephemeral aura without a corporation, but the despair in Crowley’s voice made the image sharp, regardless. If he looked anything like Aziraphale felt, then the angel was selfishly glad he couldn’t see.</p><p>His best friend. Crowley was his best friend. How had he not seen before that he should have been willing to risk everything for this, for him? Crowley had always been ready, always sacrificed and sacrificed and gave and gave and hurt and hurt, and for what? For what?</p><p>For <em>nothing.</em></p><p>For scraps and for lies. For the worst angel of them all.</p><p>Aziraphale vowed that if they survived this, he’d spend the next six thousand years making up for it.</p><p>Would Crowley still be waiting after the end of the world?</p><p>He didn’t have time to say it right now.</p><p>~</p><p>The bus wasn’t going to Oxford.</p><p>A demon and an angel sat side by side on hard plastic seats in dingy public transport, like equals, as exhausted as if they’d saved the world.</p><p>Two thousand years is such a long time, he mused.</p><p>~</p><p>Crowley fell asleep halfway through dinner.</p><p>Aziraphale was not surprised. He’d had a long day, a long night, a long week. A long eleven years. The poor demon had gone through a lot, even if he was still fuzzy on the details of what happened yesterday. But he was smart enough to have put it together from the bits Crowley had told him.</p><p>Burned bookshop. Burned Bentley. Best friend. Empty bottles of hard liquor.</p><p>Aziraphale discreetly paid the bill with a wave of the hand and rose, though he hadn’t eaten even half of what he’d been served. He couldn’t think of a single time he had not finished food at a restaurant unless there was a deadly emergency, but this was a rare occasion on many accounts, and Crowley needed a bed.</p><p>“Crowley,” he murmured, shaking his friend’s shoulder just slightly. “Crowley, dear, wouldn’t you prefer to sleep at your flat?”</p><p>He demon stirred slightly, slumped over the table with his head lulled atop his arms, and Aziraphale sighed with a smile. Heaven wasn’t monitoring his miracles anymore, or if they were, he didn’t care, so he simply snapped and Crowley lay in his bed in pajamas, with Aziraphale hovering by his side. The Ritz wouldn’t miss them.</p><p>With a thought, he was pleased to see his armchair appear from his bookshop beside the daunting four-poster, beset with his third favorite copy of <em>Frankenstein: The Modern Prometheus</em>. Even his bookmark was still in place, as though none of it had ever caught fire at all.</p><p>He yearned to go check the bookshop and see that all was well, but most of him wanted to stay here, by Crowley’s side. That part of him was grateful for finally being acknowledged after thousands of years gathering dust.</p><p>Aziraphale settled in to read but found his eyes wandering over to the figure on the bed. His face free of those infernal sunglasses, Aziraphale could see the peace radiating off of him, contentment settled upon his expression that the angel had never borne witness to. Almost childlike, still believing the world was simple.</p><p>They had done it.</p><p>They were free.</p><p>Crowley was free, and Aziraphale was free, and they could do with that what they wished. For the first time in centuries, in millennia, perhaps ever, Aziraphale knew exactly what he wanted and that, barring some unlikely divine or infernal interference, he would get. He wanted to say words to Crowley that were two thousand years overdue, and his heart swelled with the knowledge that he could do so, and that he soon would. He almost wished Crowley would wake up right away so he could tell him, but he was just as happy to see his love sleep. It was well earned.</p><p>Some small part of him worried that Crowley might not want him after all this time. After the cruel things he had said and done, millennia of denying their friendship and even millennia of such repression as to be nearly impressive if it wasn’t so pathetic. He could only pray – no, hope – that it wasn’t too late for them.</p><p>Still, Aziraphale was no fool. He saw the way Crowley said softly uttered, “To the world.” He’d said it quite the way he said three distinctly different words, under the stars in the East.</p><p>The end of the world had come and gone, so Aziraphale did what he had always done, always, for longer than he knew.</p><p>He read a book, and he loved Crowley.</p><p>~</p><p>All things considered, it wasn’t the worst month of his life by any stretch.</p><p>He spent most of his time in Crowley’s flat, going back and forth between there and his revived bookshop, reading and snacking and watching over Crowley’s slumber and trying to decide if that last one was creepy or not and electing to ignore it. He had plenty of practice ignoring such conundrums.</p><p>He explored and secretly judged Crowley’s aesthetic now that he had the time to take it in, but all complaints fled when he found the plant room. Beautiful, verdant green plants cluttered the edges in large drapery and the velvet sheen of well-loved leaves.</p><p>They seemed to tremble when he walked in, but soon calmed as Aziraphale ran his fingers over their thick stems and plush foliage. He recalled how Crowley had once mentioned in the ‘70s that he’d taken up talking to his plants, so Aziraphale murmured comfort and kindnesses to them, promising their owner would be back to take care of them soon. The poor dears must be missing him so. He found the mister, as well, and wasn’t entirely sure how to use it.</p><p>He simply did his best, and the plants did, too. It was all any of them could do.</p><p>He’d cleaned up the puddle that was Ligur the night he’d stayed here before the attempted executions. He still eyed the spot warily, checking over and over again a tad obsessively that no holiness lingered. He would not have his demon burning his feet because Aziraphale had not cleaned up properly. Maybe he should go check again.</p><p>He read a lot of books. He focused mostly on the romances, and he daydreamed unrestrainedly. Living with the truth awakened within him, and unafraid of it, was the most freeing thing he’d ever done. Being free of his lies was nearly as amazing as being free of Heaven itself – and wasn’t that a great deal to process in one sentence. He talked to the plants about it sometimes, about now being outcast from Heaven but not from Her, the confliction of getting used to not being subservient to Upstairs, settling into his new truth as a free agent and what that entailed. He found that it helped a bit and wondered if that was why Crowley really spoke to them, assuming he still did.</p><p>Sometimes, he talked to God, in the human way. He asked questions, and sometimes, he thanked Her.</p><p>But above all, what he did was wait.</p><p>He didn’t know how long it would take. Crowley had once slept for over fifty years toward the end of the 19<sup>th</sup> century and into the next. They hadn’t been talking then, but Aziraphale recalled how he’d checked in on the demon every year or two, anyway, wishing he’d wake up so they could talk about something, anything. So that he could apologize, maybe, but probably not. Crowley had slept on, and the next time he’d checked, Crowley was simply gone. He never knew if Crowley was aware of how Aziraphale had watched over him at that time.</p><p>This time, he would be there when the demon awoke, no matter how long it took. No matter how many years went by. Crowley had waited for him for two thousand years.</p><p>
  <em>“I would wait, you know. If it took you thousands of years, I’d wait.”</em>
</p><p>Two thousand years is plenty of time to lose hope, and to fall out of love, and to abandon fussy angels who won’t even call him his friend. Crowley had done none of that.</p><p>So yes, it wasn’t the worst month of his life, but it would have been so much better had Crowley been awake.</p><p>~</p><p>Aziraphale sat in his usual armchair by the demon’s bed, reading away with cold cocoa by his side, as tended to happen if there wasn’t a (conscious) demon around to remind him about it. Crowley stirred under his black duvet; the angel didn’t notice. Crowley often moved in his sleep, including but not limited to crawling up the ceiling and lying there instead without waking. So, him shifting from his back to his side was entirely unremarkable by now.</p><p>What was a little more noteworthy was when he spoke.</p><p>“A…Angel?” Crowley whispered, voice husky and dry and deeply confused. “What…what time is…what’re you…”</p><p>Aziraphale looked up from his book with a snap and felt a warmth suffuse his being at the sight of his saggy-eyelid demon, pajamas wrinkled and ruffled bedhead a centimeter or two longer than it had been before his nap. He was blinking rapidly, eyebrows lifted high, and Aziraphale decided to take pity on him as the demon tried to settle on which questions to ask.</p><p>“Good morning, dear,” he said gently. “Or, rather, it appears to be dusk now, doesn’t it?” he amended, glancing at the digital clock on Crowley’s nightstand.</p><p>“How long did I…when did I…” The demon screwed his eyes shut, trying to think, before flinging them open and sitting up, half frantic. “The Ritz!” he exclaimed.</p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale chuckled. “That was a month ago.”</p><p>“A month?!”</p><p>“And three days, to be precise.”</p><p>Crowley flopped back down into his bed. “Right. Okay. How the Heaven did I get here, then? The last thing I remember is us at the Ritz after we…” his eyes widened as he turned to face Aziraphale. “Wait, we really…”</p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh. He’d seen Crowley many times after a long nap and he was always so groggy he bordered on sloshed. It was adorable, something he could admit to himself now.</p><p>“We stopped Armageddon and foiled our respective executions, yes,” he filled in when Crowley glared at him for laughing. “And then I ate half my sea trout a la nage before you fell asleep at the table and I brought us here. I fully expect you to take me back so we can eat a proper meal now that you’re awake again.”</p><p>Crowley groaned, though Aziraphale could tell it was for show. “Ugh. Fine, sure, whatever. Bossy angel.” For a moment, he seemed satisfied before another question came to him. He never could stop asking questions. “Wait, okay, but why are<em> you</em> here?”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled at him innocently. “Would you rather I not be?”</p><p>“No no, that’s not what I said, angel,” Crowley said, voice thick with annoyance and that ever-present fondness. “It’s been a month, you said, so why are you sitting in your <em>Satan blessed armchair</em> in my flat? Why aren’t you at the bookshop or…literally anywhere else?”</p><p>Aziraphale continued to smile, expression pliant and gentle. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”</p><p>Crowley stared at him, slowly sitting up as something seemed to register in his brain. Something on Aziraphale’s face, in his voice, in his words, in his posture. Everything about the angel screamed of something.</p><p>Crowley could not sense love, but nor was he blind.</p><p>“Aziraphale, are you-“</p><p>“I love you!” Aziraphale blurted.</p><p>Crowley’s eyebrows shot up.</p><p>“Ah, wait!” Aziraphale blundered, flustered as he twisted his hands together anxiously. “That’s not how I meant to do that at all! I was going to take you out to dinner, and then maybe go out somewhere where we could see the stars, like you did. And then I could make it all romantic like in the novels I’ve been reading! Oh, I had <em>plans,</em> Crowley! I took <em>notes!”</em> He made to continue his distressed rant but was interrupted by Crowley bursting out into unrestrained laughter.</p><p>“Excuse you!” he exclaimed, a touch bewildered, though relieved Crowley didn’t appear disappointed by the, er, lack of atmosphere. Aziraphale had definitely not visualized his confession as a hasty interruption while the demon sat perched and half wrapped in bedsheets, nightshirt half undone, hair plastered against his left ear.</p><p>“Angel, oh angel,” the demon managed when he caught his breath, leaning against the headboard to swipe away a tear of laughter. His bright smile was the whole world. “You ridiculous, <em>ridiculous</em>, wonderful angel.”</p><p>“Well, well I…”</p><p>“How long have you known?”</p><p>Aziraphale pouted. “What does that mean, then?”</p><p>“Well, when did you realize?”</p><p>“You <em>knew?!”</em></p><p>Crowley rolled his eyes, leaning forward to prop his chin in his hands, which in turn were propped on his knees. He was the very picture of tussled beauty and picturesque joy. “Angel, you remember that conversation as well as I do. You must think you’re a lot more subtle then you are if you thought I wouldn’t see all your sideways glances! Satan, watching you get so pink when I said the Arrangement was a marriage contract was amazing.”</p><p>Aziraphale blushed. Oh, oh dear. This was just embarrassing.</p><p>“So? When did the obvious knock you over the skull?”</p><p>Aziraphale wanted to stick his tongue out at him, but he was above that, obviously, and settled for a mature glare. “France, after the Bastille.”</p><p>Crowley grinned at him. It wasn’t so mocking as he probably thought it was. “Bloody <em>crepes</em>. I still can’t believe you did that. I love you, angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s heart buzzed, head light. Oh, how he loved hearing those words again, in this new context, in this lovely world where they could say it without fear of retribution. Aziraphale gazed at his demon, knowing he looked utterly besotted.</p><p>Crowley, after a few beats, lifting his hands out, palms up. “Well?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Aren’t you going to say it back?”</p><p>“I already said it!”</p><p>Crowley frowned. “Say it again?” he asked, a bit sheepishly. Oh, Aziraphale’s heart soared at his shy demon, the utter sweetheart. He stood from his chair and sat on the edge of the bed, taking Crowley’s hand in his as the demon leaned forward an infinitesimal amount, a snake drawn to his heat source.</p><p>“I’ve been in love with you for a long time, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered. Against his will, he felt a lump in his throat as his voice came out slightly raspy. He gulped it down. “You understood long before I did. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say it back. You’ve waited such a long time.”</p><p>
  <em>“This kind of love? It’s a human thing, angel.”</em>
</p><p>Crowley’s seemed at a bit of a loss at the onslaught of affection and Aziraphale wondered if it was too much. Good. His demon deserved too much, so he continued.</p><p>“I’ve been waiting in your flat for a month so I could tell you. I’ve been quite looking forward to it, I must say.” Aziraphale leveled him with a soft expression as the demon chuckled lightly. “I love you, Crowley, in the same way you loved me, then. Perhaps I always have, and I know I always will. Will you…” he hesitated, not even knowing why he felt a twinge of nerves. Was this how Crowley had felt, back then? “Will you have me?”</p><p>Crowley gave a smile so wide it showed off his perfect rows of white teeth and sharp canines. “Don’t be an <em>idiot</em>,” Crowley said fondly, his words apparently returning to him. “For someone so clever, you ask such stupid questions.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled back. “You know you’ve always been better at asking questions, love,” he replied, tucking a stray curl behind Crowley’s ear.</p><p>Crowley gave a bashful laugh and Aziraphale shone when he saw the dotting of pink on the demon’s cheeks at the endearment and gesture. He needed to make Crowley blush as often as possible, he decided silently. “Right.” He nodded and took a fortifying, deep breath. “Then…let me ask one now.”</p><p>Aziraphale knew what he would ask. “Please.”</p><p>Crowley made eye contact with him and held it. He spoke low, confident, but not smug. Just glad. “Could you love me?”</p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale said instantly, allowing no time for doubt to ferment. He would say it as many times as Crowley wanted, and then likely a few thousand more for his own benefit. “Yes, it turns out I could.”</p><p>Crowley took up both of Aziraphale’s hands in his, reverently, his own soft palms against Crowley’s calloused ones. Holding hands was surprisingly tactile and pleasant, and Aziraphale knew he would need to explore this most thoroughly.</p><p>“I can’t believe,” Crowley whispered, “you did this when I’m not even dressed properly.”</p><p>“Hey now,” Aziraphale protested. “You’re the one who slept for a month! I couldn’t wait any longer!”</p><p>Crowley laughed, high and twinkling, and it was the most beautiful sound to the angel’s ears. “You’re an angel! Isn’t patience a virtue?”</p><p>Aziraphale grinned at him. “A virtue better suited to a demon such as yourself, I believe.”</p><p>Crowley scoffed in mock offense. “You dare accuse me of a virtue, angel? Think of my reputation.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Aziraphale said in that tone of his. “Your reputation on Heaven’s side is ‘my boyfriend in the dark glasses,’ if I recall correctly. Does that suit you?”</p><p>Crowley softened and squeezed the angel’s hand again. Aziraphale squeezed back. Neither had even a modicum of self-control at this point and they might have been embarrassed if the other wasn’t just as whipped. “No,” he said simply. “We’re genderless, remember? I’m not a boy.”</p><p>“Quite true. Partner, then?”</p><p>“That’s still kinda business-y. I don’t think the word matters, angel.”</p><p>“Lovers?”</p><p>“That has Effort-related connotations.”</p><p>Aziraphale gazed at him, face scrunched in thought before something came to him. “Everything,” he said reverently.</p><p>Crowley lifted his eyebrows. “What?”</p><p>“You are my everything,” Aziraphale clarified softly.</p><p>Crowley leaned forward so their foreheads rested together, closing his eyes as he did so. “That’s disgustingly soft. I’m revolted. How dare you.”</p><p>“But do you like it?”</p><p>“Hrrngh.”</p><p>Aziraphale smirked.</p><p>They both had everything they’d ever wanted. A demon and an angel sat side by side, hands clasped after the end of the world, and neither of them had to say it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don’t even wanna know how many times I’ve written “Crowley lifted his eyebrows” in the past few months. I think it’s just law that I have to include that phrase somewhere in every fic I write.<br/>Anyway, hope you liked the softness &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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